What Really Happened
by rozulthorn
Summary: SPOILER! If you haven't read book seven chapter 32 yet, do not read this.
1. The Prince's End

What Really Happened

I had the idea for this the day after I first read book seven. I just sat there and it came to me. Probably because Snape is my favourite character, and in my head I could never see him dying. I completely forgot until a few days later when I was going to bed and I sat there at 3 am typing on my laptop so I wouldn't forget.

I do not own Snape or any other character from Harry Potter, they all belong to J.K. (damn her).

The venom coursed through his arteries. The blood poured from the wound in his neck. Killed by a serpent, the symbol of his own house. Snape would have found it funny, under other circumstances. The Dark Lord left, taking that wretched snake, Nagini, with him. Snape was alone, left to die. All of Dumbledore's plans had come to nothing, it had all gone wrong. Voldemort had gained the Elder Wand. At least, thought Snape, he wouldn't be alive to see it all go wrong. No, he'd be dead long before then.

He lay there, bleeding on the floor, clutching a hand to the burning wound in his neck. He couldn't stop the flow of blood. He knew he was dying, but he wanted to live. The world had faded, the only feeling left the icy burning in his neck. The only sound the beating of his heart. But no, there was another sound. Footsteps. Someone was coming. He tried to sit up, to look, but he hadn't the strength. The footsteps came closer, and there was the rustle of a cloak being removed. A face appeared, a familiar face with familiar eyes. Those green eyes that had haunted so many of his dreams were now looking down on him, hatred and contempt clear. But that no longer mattered. He reached out and grabbed Harry's robes, pulling him closer. The boy had to know, to understand. He let the memories go, feeling them seeping out.

'Take … it … Take … it …' He rasped, willing the boy to understand.

The memories gushed out, and still the boy did nothing.

'Idiot!' He wanted to say. But he could not, he had not the breath for that one word. He couldn't raise his wand to help the boy, but Hermione did it for him. As usual, he was saved by the know-it-all. The flask was soon filled, the reasons and memories were there for Potter to see. He would be vindicated. The boy would understand. And yet he needed one more thing. He couldn't bear to see those eyes, Lily's eyes, looking at him with such a look. He couldn't have his last view be on that perversion of her beauty. He managed to take one more breath, enough to speak one last time.

'Look … at … me …' he whispered.

Those green eyes met his, and the hate had gone. He could not smile, he had lost all control, all strength, but the grim fatality that had gripped his heart lessened, and the fear of death which haunted his eyes left him. He let go, both of his hatred, his malice, his fear, and of his grip on the boy's robes. His hand thudded to the floor, and he moved no more. The last thing he saw as his vision swam before him was that pair of bright green eyes, staring down at him. Then, there was nothing but the darkness, rising up to greet him.

There was a feeling of lightness, almost floating. He felt free. He knew he must be hallucinating, as his brain shut down for good.

'Such a waste.' He thought. He could have had a good, long life, been someone. Bit late now really. The floating sensation receded. Death, he presumed. But then it felt as though there was some pressure on his chest, a weight that was nothing to do with dying. It was this weight which was holding him back from the darkness. How strange. He wasn't sure what to do, whether to struggle against the weight, or to try to live again. But the choice was made for him. The weight, and he felt now that it was a hand pressed against his chest, pushed harder, forcing him back into his body. The pain returned, and he gasped in a ragged, shuddering breath. A new, sharp pain in his chest, a hand there, pumping his heart. Again. A voice, he couldn't make out the words. And then a whisper in his ear, a whisper he felt was nothing to do with the person or people bringing him back to life.

'Not yet.' Said the whisper, the voice so quiet he could not tell to whom it belonged. He knew it was female, a soft breath full of care. 'Not yet.'

Then the voice was gone, leaving only the pain. A blackness of a different kind rose up, engulfing Snape's mind and dragging him into sleep. But he would live, he knew it. For now, at least.


	2. Awakening

Chapter 2

The first thing he noticed as he made the slow trek back to consciousness was the pain. It was not so strong as it had been, but his neck still burned and ached where Nagini's fangs had sunk into his flesh. He felt sluggish, drained. He supposed he had lost a lot of blood, no wonder. No, the wonder was that he was alive. He didn't entertain the notion that he was dead, his memory was intact and he remembered well what had happened. Strange that he had been saved. None of the Death Eaters would have spared him a second glance if the Dark Lord had killed him, and he hardly thought the Order would go to much trouble over Dumbledore's murderer. Oh how that task had haunted him, it had brought him so much pain and trouble. Dumbledore had probably foreseen it all too, used him, like he used everyone else. Snape tried to laugh at the thought, but stabbing pains wracked his chest and only a coughing wheeze emerged.

Footsteps across a wooden floor approached him. He managed to crack open his eyes, and was amazed at the sheer energy it took to achieve this.

At first, he was blinded by the candlelight and fire warming the room. He hadn't anticipated their presence, and he couldn't feel their heat. His body seemed to be ice and lead, cold and immovable. After a few moments, his vision settled. He looked into a face he knew and yet it wasn't quite the face he thought it to be. He managed to scrounge the energy to speak.

'Dumbledore …?' He wheezed, confused.

Aberforth looked down at him, comprehension dawning.

'Ah. Another one to fall foul of my brother's plotting.' He grunted, obviously not impressed. Snape nodded slightly, understanding now. 'Well. It seems you were lucky, in your own way.' He indicated the bandaged wound on Snape's neck. It felt raw and painful beneath the bandage. 'We got to you before that killed you.'

'We …?' The word came out like a cough rather than speech.

Madam Rosmerta's pretty face approached, replacing Aberforth's withered visage. 'Yes. Aberforth and I saw You-Know-Who leaving the Shrieking Shack. We thought we'd better investigate.' She patted his arm in a vague attempt at sympathy or comfort. 'Good thing too. You'd lost a lot of blood. Lucky I had some potions set by from after my accident, otherwise you'd have never pulled through.' She smiled weakly, and Snape knew there was some bad news approaching. 'We can't seem to get the wounds to close though, there must be something in them, some venom from that horrid snake.' She shuddered, obviously remembering. When she didn't continue, Snape made another attempt at speech.

'Let … me … try …'

Rosmerta looked up, shocked.

'No!' She said, scandalised. 'You shouldn't even be talking. You probably can't even stand a cauldron the right way up in your condition.'

Snape ignored her, forcing himself into a sitting position. His neck screamed agony, but he ignored it. He hadn't been the Potions Master for nothing. He knew more than a little about venoms and anti-venoms.

Rosmerta made a move as if to stop him, but never carried it through. She just watched owlishly as he swung his legs off the bed, grimacing all the way, and tried to stand. He managed it, for a moment or two, before he had to grip the wooden bedstead for support. His head spun, his vision with it, but this soon faded as before.

'Cauldron.' he said shortly, finding his voice more easily now.

Rosmerta complied, hurrying away and returning with a small, pewter model. He didn't thank her, simply took it and hung it in its place over the fire. Aberforth watched from the doorway, something akin to amusement on his face, as Snape waved his wand over the cauldron, thinking _Aguamenti_. Water poured from the wand-tip, slopping onto the already hot metal.

'Dittany, aconite, murtlap essence…' he muttered, Rosmerta brought all that he asked for, the list was not beyond what could be found in most ingredients cupboards. It was the combination and the skill of the brewer that held importance in this potion.

Finally, when the sweet, sickly odour of the golden mixture had suffused the air of the room, making the atmosphere thick and sticky with the heady fumes, the potion was near done. One more ingredient. With care, Snape removed the bandage from his neck, ignoring Rosmerta's gasp. He pointed his wand at the wound, directing some of his own blood into the steaming cauldron. The mixture hissed and fizzed, turning a vibrant green colour. The Potions Master conjured a goblet from the air, his face pallid and slick with sweat. He was obviously in great pain, and the wound in his neck was once more weeping gouts of blood. He drank deeply from the cup, grimacing at the inherent difficulty and discomfort caused by swallowing.

The room, filled with swirling, golden fumes, wavered before his eyes once more. He seemed to be falling, but he couldn't feel himself or the air around him. All the sounds had gone from the world. He hit the ground with a dull thud.

As he fell to unconsciousness once more, he thought how pathetic he must seem, fainting all the time. It was the sort of thing Potter would do.


	3. Moving On

I know this chapter's a bit crud, but bear with me people, I have plans... ((cackles evilly))

Chapter 3

Snape knew, as he woke up again, that the potion had worked. Not that he'd ever doubted himself, but venoms were tricky things. He no longer felt as though he'd been clubbed round the head and forced to drink vinegar. He no longer felt cold and stiff. He sat up, his head spinning, anti-venom or no. He looked around, once he ceased to see stars, and saw his surroundings were less comfortable than they had previously been. Instead of the warm wooden panelling and polished oak floors of the Three Broomsticks, he realised he was seeing the grubby, greying wood of the Hog's Head, a back room, it seemed. There was a threadbare carpet on the floor and a small fireplace, above which hung a single large oil painting of a blonde girl who gazed out at the room with a vapid expression. Snape wondered idly who she had been. He wondered also at the change in surroundings, but only briefly. No doubt Aberforth had his reasons. The man could be quite as unfathomable as his brother, when he wanted to be.

As if summoned by a thought, the younger Dumbledore entered, casting a glance over at the couch upon which the Potions Master sat. He gave no indication of any surprise that Snape was awake. He just sat himself on a greying armchair opposite him, gazing ahead with his piercing blue eyes. After a moment, he spoke.

'I suppose you want to know why we came for you.' He grunted. As Snape had a chance for a closer inspection, he realised the barman looked worn-out and haggard. Maybe he'd had a rougher time than he'd thought.

'Mm.' Said Snape, trying not to seem too interested. He didn't like to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing more than him. Unfortunately, Aberforth didn't seem fooled.

'I suppose you assume my dear, departed brother confided his whole and complete plans in you and only you, hmm?' Aberforth's smile was strange and alien in the firelight, almost a leer. 'You thought only you knew what was going on?' He gave a harsh, derisive laugh. 'Well you weren't. Much as I disliked him, my brother was clever. He knew he'd need to tell someone else, just in case it all went wrong. And guess who he turned to? Me. I had to sort out his mess again.' He looked disgusted, from what Snape could see of his expression. He could sympathise, from recent experience.

'So you watched and you waited and you saw things go wrong.' He said, his voice cold. He wasn't about to start falling on his knees in gratitude. 'And you came and took me out, because you saw me enter and not leave. Well done. I suppose you were happier hiding out here in Hogsmeade than joining in the real fighting.' A sneer played about Snape's lips as he spoke. His voice was laced with cold amusement, but his eyes were sharp and hard with anger. He had views on cowardice.

Aberforth rose from the chair, his eyes blazing, and for a moment Snape thought he saw his hand reach for his wand. There was a moment's silence. Then Aberforth sank back heavily into the chair, looking defeated.

'If it wasn't for the fact you're an injured man,' he said matter-of-factly, 'I would hex you so hard you wouldn't know what hit you. But I'm under orders, me, against my better judgement. And those orders don't include you being a ferret, so I'll withhold… for now.' He grunted, seemingly disappointed at this particular order.

Snape, who hadn't moved during the whole of this outburst, raised one eyebrow quizzically. 'Whose orders?' He asked, though he already suspected the answer.

'My brother's of course.' Said Aberforth, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'Ariana,' he indicated the portrait of the blonde girl, 'has been visiting another portrait of her in the castle so she could go and talk to him, and keep up with events, of course.' The girl nodded vigorously, her hair bobbing up and down in her enthusiasm. 'And much as I hate it, I've been well and truly cornered into helping, pointless though it is. Hmph.'

Aberforth looked as though he was about to continue speaking, but was interrupted by a loud crack as someone apparated in the middle of the room. They looked around, a little dazed, then their eyes fell on Snape.

'_You!_' said Lupin, his eyes wide with hate and disgust. 'What are you doing here?'

'Bloody King's Cross Station in here…' muttered Aberforth. Then a little louder, 'I brought him here, so don't go killing him.'

'But… but… he killed your brother! How can you let him live? He's a traitor and a coward and-'

'I AM NOT A COWARD!' yelled Snape, cutting Lupin short as he stood from the sofa. 'I hated what I had to do, but I did my job. I did as I was told.' He seemed disgusted, and the last comment was said with a nasty twist to it. Lupin seemed to catch on to the implication, and glowered at Snape, drawing his wand.

'At least I-' he began, pointing his wand at Snape's chest, but Aberforth cut him off.

'Enough!' he yelled. 'I have had enough of this! First my bar gets turned into a bloody railway station, with every Tom, Dick and Remus apparating in, going to their deaths at the school, just because that old fool would've wanted 'em to, now it's a duelling arena. Well I've had it. Get out, both of you!' He brandished his own wand, and the portrait of Ariana swung open. 'Go on! Get out of it!' He yelled, red blotches appearing on his cheeks.

Snape and Lupin both scarpered into the tunnel, hearing Aberforth grumbling behind them, until the painting swung shut, leaving them in the gloom and the silence.


End file.
